


In the End

by LizardOnIce27



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:23:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizardOnIce27/pseuds/LizardOnIce27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warped comes to an end, and so does Patrick's relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Don’t stare at him.  
Don’t stare at him.  
Just a quick glance.  
No, eyes to the front.  
Keep looking at the sidewalk.  
Do. Not. Stare.

“You alright, ‘Trick?” Pete puts a hand on my shoulder, “You look like you’re going to pass out.” he frowns.

I shake my head, “No, I mean yeah. I’m fine.”

“And I’ve decided to get all of my tattoos removed.” Pete crosses his arms skeptically, “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“Going on? Nothing. I’m fine.” I sneak a quick glance to the MCR bus, where he’s standing, saying his goodbyes. 

Pete sighs, “Alright well we’re going to leave soon, so you should probably tell everyone bye... especially your _boyfriend_.”

“We’ve said our goodbyes..for good.” my voice cracks as I stand up, “So I’ll just go hang out in the bus until we leave, tell everyone I said bye.” 

“Wait, what?” he grabs my shoulder as I head to the bus, “What happened?”

“It’s fine, it’s nothing.” I shrug off his hand and walk into the bus, slamming the door.

I peek through the window as Pete shakes his head and walks over to hug Mikey. And then my eyes land on the blonde I’m avoiding, who’s walking this way. Shit. Quickly, I run over to the back room and lock myself inside. I thought I made it clear, I don’t want to talk to him again. He can’t just break things off and pretend we’re still cool. We aren’t. I would rather swallow razors than have to speak to him again. I listen quietly as the bus door opens and shuts. His footsteps getting closer. Am I so predictable he knew I’d hide? His footsteps stop at the door, I can tell by the shadows creeping from the crack underneath.

“Patrick?” he says softly, “You aren’t even going to say goodbye?” When I give no answer he sighs, “Look, ‘Trick. Be pissed at me all you want, but everyone’s going to miss you. Gerard will bitch for a month about how Patrick didn’t say bye to him and frankly he’s going to blame me.”

“Well then I guess you’ll just have to deal with it.” I reply, voice dripping with anger and spite, “Because I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to be aware that you exist. And saying goodbye means questions about what happened between us. And I can’t answer them. You fucked it up so you should be the one dealing with the questions. Just leave me alone so I can try to forget.”

“Patrick you’re being childish about this. It’s just a breakup.”

I slam my fist on the door, “TO YOU IT’S JUST A BREAKUP! JUST A BREAKUP AND, OH FINE, COOL! WHATEVER! I’LL JUST GET ON WITH MY LIFE BECAUSE IT DIDN’T MEAN ANYTHING.” I swing the door open and shove him, “BUT IT MEANT SOMETHING TO ME!”

“Patrick calm down-”

“DON’T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!” I grab his wrist and yank him towards the door, opening it and shoving him out, “Everything might be fine to you, but I got my heart broken. So fucking forgive me if I don’t want to see you for the rest of my fucking life!”

Pete runs over and walks into the bus, suffocating me with a hug, “It’s okay ‘Trick. It’s okay.”

Gerard helps Bob up, “I’d wait in the bus if I were you...” he walks up the stairs and hugs me once Pete releases me, “I’ll get Frank to piss on his bunk.”

I nod and quickly wipe my eyes.

 

I sleep the entire ride home, or at least I pretend to. I want to avoid as much questioning as possible, for as long as possible. Which means that in the break we have before touring again, I’m going to lock myself in my apartment. It’s a highly flawed plan, considering Pete has a key, but maybe he’ll be too busy talking to Mikey. Strange how now I want him to have Mikey as a distraction. I just don’t want to talk about it. I want to be alone and miserable, in peace. I don’t want to hear that I’ll find someone else, or that Bob wasn’t good enough anyways. Because the problem is, Bob was too good. Too out of reach for me. I really should have listened to my ‘too good to be true’ instincts, because then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. Maybe then I wouldn’t still taste him on my lips. Who the fuck kisses you after breaking up with you? Then again, who the fuck kisses back even though their heart is ripping into shreds and they’re on the verge of sobbing like a neglected infant? Pulling on the other’s hair, trying to keep them from slipping away. He did teach me something that both kills me and comforts me at the same time.

I am able to be in love with someone besides Pete Wentz.

 

 

I sigh and look around Pete’s livingroom, absently petting Hemingway and wondering how I ended up here instead of my own lonely apartment. Pete is talking, and I hear him but I’m just not registering what he’s saying. I hope he’s talking about eyeliner again because I’m too messed up right now to pay attention. I hope if he’s talking about something significant, he’ll understand that I’m in no mood to carry out a decent conversation. I just keep nodding and giving him generic answers like ‘uh huh’ or ‘yeah’.

I jump lightly when he squeezes your shoulder, “You’ve been zoned out since we left.”

I look over to him, “I know, I’m sorry.”

He sighs, “This really messed with you didn’t it?”

I nod, “I’ve dealt with breakups before..this one just hurts more.” I groan internally. Talking about my feelings isn’t the plan. Sitting on Pete’s couch isn’t the plan.

“You really cared about him...”

I nod, “Another bit of one-sided adoration for me.”

“I realize you fully intend to bottle this up with everything else, but I’m not going to let you.” he says simply, “If I have to owl Professor Snape for some Veritaserum, I’ll do it.” he grins when I crack a small smile.

“It’s just..it’s dumb.” I shrug, “Turns out Bob has a girlfriend and was only exploring his attraction to men.”

Pete frowns, “What?”

I nod, “He told me the night before we left. Said he’s sorry, but he’d rather stay with her. He also mentioned she’s taller than me out of the blue, and that was just kind of like, another verbal slap in the face..” I look down, “And I just... he said he loved me...about a month ago he told me he loves me, but he has a girlfriend the whole time? Was breaking my heart also part of his stupid fucking experiment? And I...we...”

Pete gently rubs my back, “You what?”

I wipe my eyes before any tears can fall, “When everyone was outside getting drunk and everything? W-We had sex in their bus...” I blush deeply, “And I...that shouldn’t matter right? But he...I’d never...” 

Pete pulls me into a hug, “Hey...it’s alright. The first person you trust that much...they aren’t always the last person...sometimes it doesn’t work out-”

“Or you’re being lied to the whole goddamn time!” I kick his coffee table, knocking it over.

“Hey, breathe. It’s okay. It hurts right now, but it will get better. Besides, if he really used you like that...then he didn’t love you. But you know what? You’re going to find someone who will, because you’re amazing and you deserve it.” He kisses my forehead and leans back on the couch, “If it makes you feel any better, Mikey and I broke up too. It was more mutual though, we just didn’t want a long distance sort of thing.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better, Pete.” Yes it does. “I’m sorry about...” No I’m not. “Are you alright?”

He nods and smiles, “We’ll still be buddies, so it’s fine. Thanks for talking to me instead of bottling everything... because it’s not good for you, ‘Trick.”

I nod, “I know...but it feels better than facing it sometimes.”

He nods and smiles sadly, “I know...”

 

Pete convinces me to stay the night, and like always I try and fail to sleep on the couch. Fail, because Pete always insists that his bed is big enough. So when I’m starting to slip into a deep sleep, I feel him moving closer, wrapping himself around me and resting his head on my chest. I should move, or try to push him off, but I never do. I don’t think I ever will. Because despite how much everything with Bob hurts, Pete makes it better. He always does. But soon the pain from Bob will be replaced by the pain of wanting Pete, and knowing I can’t have him. For now though, I’m going to enjoy the cuddling.


	2. Just Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick develops an addiction to sleeping, where he can't feel angry or upset about his break up with Bob. He sleeps through an entire week, with the exception of waking up for a few minutes at a time. What he doesn't notice is how many times Pete's called him.

It’s now day three of my ‘Moping about my breakup with Bob, in peace, in my lonely apartment’, and it’s starting to get...lonely. Pete has things to do and I didn’t want to be in the way so I went home. I slept through Day One, so that was pretty great. Yesterday I threw almost every glass plate against the kitchen wall, and that helped out my anger, except now I have to buy more, and I still haven’t cleaned up the glass. Today I plan to clean up the glass, and probably eat something. Then I’ll probably watch TV and try to sleep the rest of the day away. I can’t feel the hurt while I’m asleep, and I think I might be getting addicted to it, if that’s possible. And if the hurt keeps coming out in anger, I’m going to destroy the entire apartment. Pete’s called me twice today and I haven’t picked up, mostly because I’m still lying in bed trying to slip back into sleep. It’s now three pm, and I’m still lying in bed. I’m highly considering drinking some Nyquil to make myself fall back to sleep, and I know that’s bad. I just don’t care. I just want to sleep, and feel nothing. Or feel good things, like the dreams I’ve been having about Pete. Some of them have been bout Bob, but it’s like an alternate universe where he doesn’t break my heart. As I think more about it, I know how much I’ve been sleeping is unhealthy. But hell, I hardly sleep at all on tour, can I use that as an excuse? The downside to oversleeping, is that it makes you insanely tired, which to me doesn’t make sense. If you get more sleep, shouldn’t you be more rested? Apparently not. Perhaps I’m thinking too much to sleep. I wish I could clear my mind, but it’s impossible. There are too many thoughts are running wild for me to catch. Nyquil will definitely help.

 

When I wake up later on, I take another couple of gulps of Nyquil before snuggling back into my pillow. Keeping it by the bed was a good idea.

 

After a while I run out of the Nyquil so I grab some allergy medicine that makes you drowsy and set it on the nightstand, taking it before slipping off to sleep again.

 

“WAKE UP!” my shoulders are shaken roughly, “WAKE THE FUCK UP PATRICK!”

I rub my eyes and look up at a very blurry Pete Wentz, “Hmm?”

He holds up the empty Nyquil bottle and the allergy medicine, “What the fuck is this?”

I yawn, “Gotta cold.”

“You lying son of a bitch!” he growls.

“Hey, my mom is nice.” I yawn, “Go ‘way, I’m sleeping.”

“For how long, exactly? Because I haven’t heard from you in a week!” He says angrily.

“A week? You’re exaggerating, I was at your house three days ago.” I put on my glasses and sit up.

His face pales, “Patrick it’s been a week.”

I raise an eyebrow, “I think you’re confused.”

“I’m confused? Why don’t you look at your phone and tell me the fucking date!”

I roll my eyes and pick up my phone, noticing that I have over 100 missed calls, about 200 texts, and 14 voicemails, “Jeez you call a lot.”

“The date Patrick.” he snaps.

“Pete it’s the.... holy shit.” my eyes widen, “My phone has to be wrong...”

“No you fucker.” He shoves my shoulders, “Do you have any fucking idea what I thought I walked into? Empty bottle of Nyquil, a bottle of half empty pills? You just lying there, not moving!” he shoves me again.

“Ow..” 

“And the broken glass all over the place, Patrick _what the fuck_?”

“I was angry.” I snuggle back into my pillow and try to pull the covers over me, but he pulls them away.

“Get the fuck up. Pack some fucking clothes.” He demands.

“What? Why?” I sit back up.

“Because I’m not letting you out of my fucking sight.”

“I don’t understand the problem, I was just sleeping.” I roll my eyes.

“You used sleep as a way to escape your feelings, normal feelings and emotions that you _have_ to get through! You’ve been using Nyquil and Allergy pills improperly and if you don’t get your ass out of bed and into my car in ten minutes I swear I’ll call your mom.” Pete crosses his arms.

“Alright, Alright I’m getting up.” I stand up and scrunch my nose, “Am I allowed to take a shower?”

“When we get to my house. Right now your smelly ass needs to pack clothes.” he glances at the time, “And now you’ve got nine minutes.”

I groan and start shoving clothes into a bag, while Pete gets my toothbrush, grumbling, “Just fucking sleeping it’s no big deal.”

Pete walks in with my toothbrush in a ziplock bag, “Almost done?”

I sigh, “Pete, why are you bothering me? I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Apparently you do.” he says coldly, “I’ll go clean up the glass.” he picks up the bottle of allergy pills, “And you’re never using these again, I don’t care if you can’t breathe.” he storms out of the room.

I roll my eyes and keep packing clothes.

 

Since Pete and I got in the car, we haven’t said a word to each other. He keeps opening his mouth like he’s going to say something, but then decides against it. Part of me wants to kill the silence. Point out that he had plenty to fucking say at my apartment, so why is he being so quiet now? But the other part of me is fine with the silence. I’m not sure I’m ready for the full blow up yet. We’ve been at his house now for an hour, and other than Hemingway’s barks and whines for attention, it’s been dead silent. He won’t even turn on the TV. I’m not sure when it became a competition, but now we’re just waiting to see who’ll cave first. I drum my fingertips on the arm of the chair lazily. I feel his eyes on me, silently begging for an explanation. But I know he’ll say something first. The only time he isn’t talking is when he’s asleep, and that’s only sometimes. But me on the other hand? Quiet is easy for me. Hell, I have to be quiet for vocal rest, in less than an hour, Pete will cave.

“I know it hurts Patrick.”

Make that three seconds.

“But you can’t let it ruin you.”

Actually, you’ll find I can.

“I know you’re not addicted to the Nyquil or the pills...I didn’t at first but I get it now. It’s the sleep. Existing in your own universe far from here. Where the pain can’t hurt you. But you can’t avoid it forever.”

I was willing to at least _try_.

“And I need you here.” he puts his hand on my shoulder, “I really do. Because when I get like you are right now, no one can fix me properly but you. So now it’s my turn to fix you, but ‘Trick...you have to let me.”

I look over to him, “I just want to sleep. I don’t want to feel it.”

He frowns and pulls me into a hug, “I know. But ‘Trick, you need to feel it. You need to feel all of the hurt and the anger, so you can move on. What Bob did was shitty, and it’s perfectly normal for you to feel the way you do.”

I hug back and nod into his shoulder.

He slowly pulls back, “Man, you really stink.” he chuckles, “Go shower and I’ll order pizza okay?”

I nod, “In my defense I didn’t realize I’d gone a week without showering.”

“Well please go take advantage of the ability to shower daily now that we aren’t touring.” he grins.

I stand up and hit him with a couch pillow before grabbing pajamas out of my bag and going into the bathroom. I strip off my clothes, sticking to me with sweat and turn on the water, placing my glasses on the sink. I step in and lean my head back, letting the water cascade down my neck, onto my shoulders and down my chest and back. I grab Pete’s shampoo and soap up my hair, closing my eyes as I lean my head back under the fall of water to rinse it out. I wash my hair one more time, considering when my last shower was, then quickly wash my body, trying to keep my mind blank when I have to wash below the waist. I most definitely can not get off in Pete’s shower. Although he’s probably done it standing right here. Naked. Soaking wet. Moaning....fuck. I bite my lip and peek out the shower curtain, listening carefully to be sure Pete isn’t nearby. When I hear no signs of Pete, I wrap my soapy fingers around my length and slowly begin pumping. The mental images of Pete doing the same thing to himself in the shower, flooding my mind. I bite my lip to muffle any noises I may make, imagining Pete’s tan skin, his tattoos, the sounds he’d make, and the way he’d look as he came undone. I lean against the shower wall for balance as my vision begins to blur, moving my hand even faster. I desperately wish it were Pete touching me, smirking arrogantly as I begin to fall apart. Eventually dropping to his knees and looking up to me as he takes me into his mouth. Fuck. The last thought in particular makes me moan uncontrollably, spilling out onto my hand and the shower floor.

 

I walk back into the living room, blushing shamefully at what I did in the shower.

“Pizza’s on it’s way.” he says casually.

I nod and sit back on the couch.

“Have a good shower?” he winks.

My blush deepens, “I-I, it was okay?”

He smirks, “You’re not as quiet as you think you are, ‘Trick.”


End file.
